


Soft Serve for the Soul

by InsiderKiwi



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M, Swearing, really embarrassing sexy dream upcoming but nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-18
Packaged: 2018-02-08 16:30:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1948158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsiderKiwi/pseuds/InsiderKiwi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean’s a B-list actor who takes his roles a little too seriously. Armin’s an ice cream truck driver. Ice cream based shenanigans ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Vanilla Scoop

**Author's Note:**

> i scraped this together as last minute inspiration for Jearmin Week so we'll see how this goes

It was hot. Humidity soaked the air and stuck to Jean’s clothes and skin. Sure, it didn’t help that he was also soaked in sweat from a rash attempt to run from the mothers of the local neighborhood association, but, really, the weather had no reason to be this damn _hot_. He really wanted ice cream. If only that weren’t the reason he had to hide in the alley behind a run-down antique shop in the first place.

Jean heard the tip-tap of shoes on concrete and knew he couldn’t run anymore. He’d just have to explain that he was _not_ a predator, merely a man interested in learning more of the mobile cold confectionary arts. The sound of footsteps stopped at the entryway to the alley.

“Are you alright?” The sun was to the person’s back, silhouetting them in shadow, but Jean could make out their blond hair and small frame.

“Look, lady, I wasn’t predatoring on your kid, I was just trying—“

“First of all, I’m not a lady; my name is Armin,” said the person—Armin—that Jean belatedly realized was actually a young _man_ , “and second of all, I believe you.”

Jean swallowed, realizing his mistake. “Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean—“

Armin held his hands up in peace. He shifted uncomfortably on his feet before they both turned their heads at the sound of clicking heels on hot pavement. The blond grabbed Jean’s arm and dragged him down the alley.

“W-Where are we going?” Jean asked.

“Do you want those ladies to find you?” he asked. Jean shook his head dumbly and stumbled to where Armin had led him, a rusty door leading to the back of the junk shop.

“Then follow me,” he said, pushing open the door and dragging Jean inside.

The air-conditioned breeze hit Jean like a train. He breathed a pleasant sigh before being dragged further into the room. It was filled with boxes: empty boxes, full boxes, boxes as large as him and as small as his fist. The floor and walls were concrete and bare save for metal piping and a table stacked high with books, catalogues, and notepads covered in the same sloppy scrawl.

Armin beckoned him towards a shabby metal staircase that had so blended into its surroundings Jean hadn’t even noticed it. Neither said anything as their shoes clattered on the metal steps.

A door at the top of the stairs led to a cozy living room lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves. It was a stark contrast to the cold barrenness of the last room; it smelled of home and life and comfort.

“Sit down and I’ll get us something to drink,” Armin said, walking past the couch and a small dining table to what must have been the kitchen. Jean hesitated before sitting on the worn antique sofa. It looked like the one his grandmother had forbade him to sit on as a child, but this one wasn’t covered in plastic wrap.  Armin returned with a pitcher of lemonade and two glasses which he set on the coffee table. The only sound as he poured the drink into the glasses was the tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the corner. Jean swallowed nervously, throat dry. He drank from the glass in great gulps before either of them spoke.

“So what _were_ you doing stalking my ice cream truck?” Armin sets his glass down and looks intently at Jean. _Shit_.

“T-that was your truck?” Jean stammered, face heating up. Just his fucking luck he would end up having lemonade with the person whose truck he’d been stalking for the past few days.

“I’m still wearing my uniform, dude,” Armin replied, “Wait, were you just going to follow me into my house no knowing who I was? That’s so dangerous.”

_Fuck. Jean was truly and royally fucked._ All he could do was hang his head and mumble.

“Sorry, what?”

“I’m an actor.”

“An…. actor? Still not seeing what that has to do with my truck.” Armin leaned back in his chair as Jean threw his head back in frustration.

“I’m playing an ice cream truck driver in this movie and I wanted to see how you acted so I could get more into the role!” Jean’s shoulders slumped as he waited for the laughter to come.

“You’re going to be in a movie?!” Jean looked over at the blond whose eyes were shining. He was nearly trembling in excitement.

“Y-yeah.”

“Like a lead role?!”

Jean hesitated. “…Yeah, I’m the protagonist.”

“What’s it about?” Armin asked, leaning forward. It had barely registered before, but Jean realized the boy’s hair was long and soft, and it made him want to reach out and touch it.

“I-it’s about a, uhm, it’s about a stock broker who moves to a small town, and he, uh, he becomes an ice cream truck driver,” Jean mumbled. Armin’s eyes widened even more, if that was possible, and how the hell were they that _blue_. Suddenly the blond leaned back and fidgeted in his seat.

“I-if you want, I could let you run the truck with me. You know, so you can get more in character.”

Jean perked up. “Really?” Armin nodded vigorously.

“Well… okay.” Armin stuck out his hand to shake, an oddly formal gesture, and Jean clasped his hand, suddenly regretting how sweaty he had gotten running from the neighborhood moms.

“By the way, what’s your name?” Armin asked, sheepish.

“It’s Jean. Jean Kirstein.” Jean grinned at him and Armin returned a small smile.

“I look forward to working with you, Jean.”


	2. Dark Chocolate Chip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Death by ice cream. Jean, you naughty boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one's kind of silly

Jean couldn’t do it anymore. He just couldn’t. Every day it was getting harder and harder to work with Armin, harder and harder to hear Armin talk about how “down to earth” he was for a “famous actor.”

He hadn’t meant to lie. It had just… happened. He _was_ an actor, just not quite as famous as he made himself out to be. He was an actor, that much was true, but it was for a made-for-TV film and he was an extra, an ice cream man who hands treats to the children of the main character’s love interest while they chat dramatically in the shade of an old Magnolia. But, damnit, Jean was proud of his role.

But all the pride in the world won’t make a difference when he has to tell Armin the truth. And he _has_ to because he’s already promised Armin and Grandpa Arlert a look on set to see how ”real films are made.”

He was going to do it. Today would be the day he’d tell Armin. Armin and Grandpa Arlert were visiting him on set _tomorrow_ , and it would be mortifying to have to explain _then_ that Jean wasn’t actually a film star.

“I want an ice pop!” “I want a vanilla dip!” “Popsicle! Popsicle!” Jean furiously called out orders as tiny children with sticky faces pushed their allowances into his hands. At least thirty children crowded the truck, which had just pulled into the parking lot of the community pool. Armin grabbed the ice cream from the cooler in the back of the truck as fast as he could. Jean was forbidden from working in the back since he had panicked over where the King Cones were located and had nearly caused a riot among the impatient children. While he and Armin cowered on the cool floor of the truck, they had agreed that it would be best for Jean to work up front.

“Mister! Why is your hair weird?” A chubby boy in swimtrunks with a towel around his shoulders asked as Jean handed him his order.

“Because I like it that way,” Jean replied, handing the child his change.

“It looks weird.” The kid made a face, laughed, and raced his friends back to the pool. Jean sighed.

“When I first started, everyone asked why I still let my mommy cut my hair with a bowl.” Armin leaned against the railing of the serving hatch, his shoulder brushed against Jean’s. The children had cleared out, and it was nearly time for them to move to the next street.

“What did you tell them?”

“That I liked it this way,” Armin smirked. Jean laughed. Their arms pressed against each other as they enjoyed a comfortable silence. Jean realized it would be the perfect time to tell Armin the truth. As he opened his mouth, Armin spoke.

“I’m really glad you’re doing this for us. For my grandpa.” Jean cringed.

“Ha ha, well, you both are doing so much for me, so I figure I could try and make it up to you.” Jean was going to hell for this. He was going to hell to burn for all eternity because he couldn’t tell the truth to this stupid cute ice cream truck driver and his stupid grandfather.

“My grandpa used to be in movies, you know,” Armin continued, “But he never became famous, just starred in a couple of old B-List Westerns. He talks about those years all the time though.”

Jean swallowed nervously. He was unsure of how to reply. Oh god, he was going to break the old man’s heart. He was going to break his heart and KILL HIM from a heart attack and his cute grandson would never speak to him again. He’s going to be put off from _ice cream_ for the rest of his life because of this, for god’s sake.

“Look, Armin, I—“

“I want a cherry popsicle!” A girl no more than four beamed up at them. Armin smiled and nodded.

“One cherry pop coming right up. Jean, can you ring her up?” Jean nodded and punched the buttons on the register as Armin handed over the treat.

“Thank you very much!” The little girl ran back to where her mother was waiting.

“What were you saying, Jean?” Armin smiled at him as he moved to close the window of the truck. He had to reach across Jean to reach the window latch, and the top of his hair tickled Jean’s nose. He was so close. Jean could smell the scent of shampoo and fresh laundry.

“N-nothing.” Jean closed his eyes and prayed. He was definitely going to hell. He didn’t believe in God and hadn’t stepped foot inside a church since his days at Catholic school, but he was going to hell.

“Well then, I think it’s time to pack it in and call it a day,” Armin said, climbing into the driver’s seat. Jean followed and spent the rest of the ride back to Grandpa Arlert’s antique junk shop cursing himself.

He didn’t really remember going home and falling asleep, or waking up for that matter, but he was standing on the street outside Armin’s house and there was no one, not a single person, on the street save for himself. It was eerily quiet. The position of the sun signaled that it was the late afternoon, but it wasn’t hot. It wasn’t anything. All Jean could feel was the apprehension one feels before falling, a sense of weightlessness that wouldn’t go away.

He walked up to the door of the shop, but it was “closed until further notice.” Jean walked around the building to the back entrance and knocked on the door. It swung open at the first tap of his knuckles on metal, but inside was empty. Jean walked inside and called out for Armin, but there was no reply.

He knew it wouldn’t be right, but there was something pulling him up the stairs and into the living room he had visited before. His footsteps rang out too loudly on the metal stairs as he climbed to the top. The door to the top was already slightly cracked. Jean pushed it open fully.

The living room was knee-deep in melted ice cream. It covered everything: the floors, the walls, the antique sofa, and the grandfather clock. Armin stood in the room, his back to the door.

“Armin! What happened in here? Why is it covered in ice cream?” Jean fired questions as he slogged through the thick, sticky liquid. He grabbed Armin’s shoulder and shook. “Armin? Why won’t you answer me?”

Armin turned around slowly. His face was void of expression. “Jean, why did you lie to me?”

“Lie?”

“You lied to me!” Armin pushed him away, causing him to stumble and fall into the pool of ice cream. It clung heavy to his limbs as he struggled to get up.

“You lied! You lied! Why did you lie to me?!” Armin shouted as Jean sank further and further into the ever-deepening pool. He couldn’t get free. The ice cream weighed down his body and clothes until it covered all but his face. Armin continued his yelling as the liquid rose to cover his mouth, nose, and eyes.

Jean jerked awake in his bed, covered in sweat. The alarm sounded incessantly on the night stand. A dream. It was a dream. A dream where he died by ice cream. Jesus, that was so fucked up.

Jean turned off the alarm and flopped onto his bed. He had to tell Armin. It had to be today. He willed his body out of bed and got ready for work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dis chap was edited by phi @ erejearmin.tumblr.com yaaa


	3. Rocky Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> jean gets served. ICE CREAM. did he really think armin wouldn't notice?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is un-beta'd and late omg im sorry. this is kind of the ehh part of the fic as well i'm really looking forward to writing fantasy and wedding prompts honestly so pls dont drop quite yet
> 
> ; w ; /

Jean nervously paced the set. He passed by the snack table again, grabbed another mini sandwich and stuffed it whole into his mouth. Armin and his grandfather would be here any second and they still thought he was the star of some upcoming romantic comedy and it was all Jean’s fault for letting it get this far. He was so _stupid._

“Jean!” He turned his head and saw a flash of blond hair. Jean choked and coughed on the bit of sandwich still stuck in his throat so hard that a beefy security guard offered to perform the Heimlich on him.

Armin rubbed his back as he caught his breath. This was going to be a shit day. Armin smiled at him and Jean knew he couldn’t lie anymore. Armin didn’t deserve that.

“Armin, we need to talk.” Armin cocked his head quizzically.

“Sure, Jean, what about?”

“Uh, it’s something we need to talk about in private,” Jean mumbled, giving a pointed glance at Grandpa Arlert, who was studying a stack of papers one of the interns had left on the snack table.

“Grandpa, I need to talk to Jean. Will you be OK by yourself?” Armin asked.

“Don’t you boys worry about me,” the old man chuckled and waved. He wandered a bit farther off while Jean turned his full attention to the blond.

“Look, Armin, I—“ Jean took a breath, steadying his nerves, “I’m not a famous actor. I—this isn’t the set of a famous movie. Heck, this isn’t even the set of a _good_ movie. I’m playing a side character in some straight-to-TV movie nobody but my mom will watch.”

Jean hung his head in shame. His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for Armin to speak.

“Does it feel good to have gotten that off your chest?” Jean looked up to see Armin smirking at him. He opened and closed his mouth, grappling in vain for a response.

“Jean, I knew all along you weren’t a famous actor,” Armin laughed at his stunned expression, “As soon as you told me where you were filming I asked a friend who lives in town whether anyone was filming there and he told me it wasn’t any huge company, just a low budget film for some channel his mom watches.”

“I—you—“ Jean sank to his knees. He was stupid. He was really, truly an idiot. He buried his face in his hands and began to laugh. Nothing about the situation was particularly funny, but it was one of those moments in life where the only options were to laugh or cry and, well, Jean had always liked laughing a bit more.

“I just want to know why you lied,” Armin said softly, resting a hand on Jean’s shoulder. Jean stood up, wiping tears that had leaked from his eyes and looked at the blond.

“I don’t really know why. I just—I wanted to impress you,” he replied.

“Why would you want to impress me?” Armin asked, nonplussed. Jean’s face reddened, and their conversation was interrupted by a shout of “Boys! Come over here!” before Jean could reply.

Grandpa Arlert waved them over to where he stood with his hand on the director’s shoulder. The director was a stout man with a gray, balding head. He looked about 70 or 80, and all Jean knew of him was that he had been directing since he was little more than Jean’s age.

“Boys, this man was my co-star and one of my dearest friends during my acting years,” Grandpa Arlert swing his arm around the director.

“I still am,” the old director chuckled, “I never thought I’d see this old geezer again!”

Grandpa Arlert reached his other hand out to grab and shake Jean’s vigorously. “Jean, my boy, thank you so much for letting Armin and I visit you here!”

Armin gave a small smile and squeezed Jean’s bicep.

“Thank you, Jean.”

The director pats them all on the shoulder and returns to his chair to resume shooting. Today is the day Jean shoots his line. A woman who works with costuming and makeup waves her hand for all extras to report to costuming.

“I’ve got to go now,” Jean says, burying his nervousness, “Armin, can you wait for me until shooting’s over? I can answer your question then.”

“What question?” Jean fidgets. He needs to leave now.

“About why I wanted to impress you. Just—just wait for me, okay?” He turns and jogs to the costuming area before Armin can reply.

The shoot goes smoothly; Jean delivers his line perfectly and the director is satisfied with the scene. As Jean changes back into his normal clothes, the crew begins to pack everything up. The light is beginning to go and the actors are tired. Armin is nowhere to be found, so Jean walks out to the parking lot nearby where his car is parked. Armin leans against a great white ice cream truck as his grandfather bids goodbye to his long-lost friend. The blond raises his hand in a wave when he sees Jean and walks to meet him halfway.

“How did shooting go?”

“It went well.” Jean rubbed the back of his neck. No sense in putting it off now. “At first the reason I lied was because I really, really wanted to work with you. Honestly. I take my job seriously and I thought—well, I thought if I gave a good enough performance the director would hire me next time for a more important role.”

Jean set his hands on his hips and continued. “Well, I guess I need to work on setting realistic expectations as well as my acting, but I really did think that at first.”

“And now?” This time it was Armin’s turn to look down.

“I—I don’t know, I guess I just wanted you to like me.” Jean didn’t mention that his reason for wanting Armin to like him was inextricably linked to the weird way his heart skipped a beat when Armin pushed his hair behind his ear or the sweatiness in his palms whenever he found an excuse to touch the blond.

“Oh. Well, I _do_ like you Jean, but please don’t lie to me again.” Jean nodded his head so hard he thought he might sprain his neck.

“Never again. I promise.” Armin smiled at his answer. He bid Jean goodbye and waved as he and his grandfather pulled out of the parking lot.

Jean sang along to the radio the entire way home. It had been a good day.


	4. Popsicle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> talk dirty 2 me. jean's such a fool. (fantasy prompt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter took so long 2 get out but IM GONNA FINISH THIS FIC I PROMISE i already have all the chapters planned.... we'll see if i finish on time tho.....

“Jean… Jean, wake up…”

Jean pulled the covers over his head. He was going to kill whoever was calling his name this early in the fucking morning.

“Jean, it’s time to get up, sleepy head,” the voice lingered on Jean’s name, falling from its lips like sap from a tree.

Jean groggily opened one eye and pulled off the covers. He couldn’t go back to sleep with the voice nagging him like that. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Jean saw a familiar blond figure crouched at the end of his bed. Armin leaned over, resting a hand on Jean’s bare chest. He was completely naked, smiling at Jean as if they had loved each other all their lives and hadn’t known it. Armin repeated his name again and again as his hand traveled lower and lower. Jean swallowed thickly, reaching out to stroke the blond’s hair. Armin’s hand stopped at Jean’s lower stomach. He leaned in closer, pressing a soft kiss onto Jean’s lips. He moved his lips to Jean’s left ear.

Voice soft as a whisper, Armin spoke. “Jean, I—“

_BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ. BUZZ._

Jean’s hand shot out from beneath the comforter to silence the alarm entirely too fast, and it flew off the nightstand and out of reach. Groaning at the morning wood left to him by whatever sex fantasy he had just woken up from, he pulled himself out of bed, his legs tangled in his sheets. He hit the floor with a _thud_.

Jean debated getting back up again, but the persistent sound of the alarm clock wouldn’t let him rest.  Hungry, hard, and hurt, Jean made his way to the kitchen.

—

“I need three popsicles and a King Cone!” Jean shouted, children hungrily pressing their sticky money into his open hands.

“Got it!” Armin passed him the popsicles and returned with a King Cone from the second freezer. Their fingers brushed as Armin handed the treat over, and a jolt of electricity went down Jean’s spine. He jerked his hand away in surprise, dropping the ice cream to the floor. The crunch of the shattering cone inside its package made him wince.

Armin looked at him briefly with wide eyes. “I—I’ll go get a new one!”

Jean grunted and turned back to the register. The line of children outside the van had only grown. It was going to be a long day.

God, why was he acting so _weird_ , like some school girl with a crush—wait, no. Not a crush. Because that would mean he had a crush on _Armin_ , and that couldn’t happen because—because Armin was just this guy he barely knew, a guy who had really nice hair and soft hands and probably already had a boyf— _Fuck._ He was totally in love with Armin.

The revelation did nothing to calm Jean’s nerves, and after the fifth popsicle to be sacrificed to the metal floor of the van because of Jean’s malfunctioning fingers, they decided to call it a day.

Armin let out a loud sigh as he sat back against the van, resting on the bumper. The heat was merciless. Armin handed Jean a popsicle and unwrapped one of his own. They were both silent for a moment, enjoying the sound of cicadas in the distance. Jean snuck a peek at Armin and wished he hadn’t. Why the hell did eating a popsicle have to look so lewd?

“So, Armin! Do you have a girlfriend?” Jean blurted out. Shit. What a question to lead with. Jean mentally cursed himself as Armin remained silent.

“O—or a boyfriend?” he added, “you never know.”

“Not at the moment,” Armin replied, ears turning pink, “You?”

“No, not at the moment,” Jean repeated back. So... which was it? Did Armin not have a boyfriend or a girlfriend? Well, obviously he didn’t have either but which did he _want_??? Jean’s head hurt. He bit straight into the remainder of his popsicle.

Bad choice. His headache worsened into full-blown brainfreeze. He tried to play it off by just pinching the bridge of his nose and willing the pain away, but it was futile. Armin noticed his silent flailing and asked if he was okay, but Jean could only respond with a pained groan.

“Press the pad of your thumb to the roof of your mouth,” Armin suggested, rubbing Jean’s back. Jean complied, a bit worried at what diseases he might catch after handling childrens’ money all day but suffering too much to care.

“There you go. That’s it,” Armin soothed him, “All better?”

The small hand pressed into his back burned through his shirt and brought the blood rushing to his face.

“Yeah, better,” he replied. Armin realized his hand still rested on Jean’s back and jerked it away as if it had been burned. Neither man said anything for a while. The tension hung thick in the air, like a humidity that wouldn’t dissipate until the rain came.

Armin was the first to speak.

“It’s getting late.” He stood and stretched his arms, not looking at Jean. “I guess you’ll be going home soon.”

Jean nodded, but the words couldn’t leave his throat. Jean realized he didn’t _want_ to go. He wanted to sit next to Armin on the bumper of that ice cream van until all the unspoken words between them were gone and there was nothing left to say. The idea, the very notion, of pretending otherwise caused a sharp pain in Jean’s very core.

“Armin, I—“ Jean cleared his throat.

“I like you.”

Armin whipped his head around, blond hair flying. His lips parted, but no words came out. The flush in Jean’s cheeks spread to his neck and the tips of his ears.

“If you don’t want to let me work with you again or if you hate me, I understand,” he said, turning his head to look anywhere but where the blond stood stunned, “I just… thought I should tell you, since I promised to be honest.”

“I don’t hate you,” Armin replied. Jean’s shoulders sagged in relief. _Thank God._ “But what now?”

Armin shifted uncomfortably, chewing on his lip and avoiding Jean’s eyes as he spoke. “You like me, but now what?”

Jean smiled. Armin hadn’t said he liked him back, but he hadn’t said no, and, honestly, what more could a hopeless guy like him ask for?

“You could join me for dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank u for putting up w/ my bad writing this far i'll try my best to update quickly ; w ; / also lots of thanks and love 4 phi @ erejearmin.tumblr.com for being such a wonderful beta

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading ; w ; / and thanks to my betas!!!


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